Long Hot Summer
by IceKalisto
Summary: The sky was blue, and the perfect sun blazed down on rolling fields and the rushing river. All was idyllic, so what could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

Part 1

The sun blazed down from an azure blue sky, clear except for a few fluffy white clouds that bobbed around in the light, warm breeze. Below the bridge on which he stood the river flowed serenely, in turn babbling over slick rocks or resting in deep pools shadowed by weeping willows. Beyond, the meadow, dotted with wildflowers, stretched towards the distance forest.

'I don't like it.' Athos surveyed the countryside idyll with a cynical eye. Aramis, who had been idly throwing stones into the water, turned to him, grinning.

'My friend, you look as though you've landed in heaven, only to find that it's hell. Tell me, what can you object to in this?' He gestured expansively at their surroundings and Athos snorted.

'I agree it would be perfect, if of course we weren't close to the border with Savoy, and the King had not taken Rochefort's advice and gone on a visit to his sister accompanied only by the Red Guard. I cannot forsee that it will end well.'

'At least the Queen and the Dauphin are safe in Paris.' Athos gave him a sideways glance, but refrained from comment. He only hoped that he was the only one that could hear the mixture of pride and relief in his brother's voice, if anyone else were to guess...it did not bear thinking about. 'Relax Athos, enjoy some time in the sun. Porthos will be back with provisions soon, and we'll make camp. A couple of days rest will do us all good.'

Aramis kept his tone light, but he was only too aware of the how deeply his friend had felt the events of the last few months, and how often he had tried without success to drown his sorrows in a wine bottle. Being away from Paris for a few days could only be beneficial. Finally, Athos gave what could, if you looked really hard, be regarded as a smile.

'I suppose it can't hurt.' As if he'd just remembered something, Aramis looked around.

'Where's D'Artagnan?' This time, the smile he got from Athos was a genuine grin.

'It did not take long for our Gascon to revert to farm boy status, he's asleep in the long grass!'

'Dreaming of Constance no doubt.' Athos slapped his friend on the shoulder.

'We all have our dreams.'

Not far away, D'Artagnan lay on his back, eyes closed. He could feel the sun warming his leather armour, and wanted nothing more than to shrug it off and slip into one of the shadowed pools. He half opened one eye, and regarded his brothers in earnest discussion on the bridge, hoping that common sense would prevail and they could spend some time here, without the need to dash off back to the Garrison. He would never admit it to anyone, least of all Athos, that sometimes he missed the simplicity of life on the farm, where the days were long, the work hard, but rewarding, and the spectre of death almost non existent. It was not that he regretted being a Musketeer, far from it, he loved his life, the easy camaraderie that existed between him and the others, the exhilaration of standing together in a fight, and afterwards, the evenings by the fire in the local tavern, where stories flitted around like fireflies in the air. He was even in love with a beautiful woman, although that had its own share of complications, the least of which was that she already had a husband. He smiled to himself, if his life were simple, he would probably die of boredom.

The cold water hit him with such a shock that for a moment he was paralysed. Then, his eyes flew open and he jumped to his feet, dripping, glaring at Aramis who was laughing uproariously, a wooden bucket swinging lose from his hands. As the young Gascon started towards him, he turned and ran.

On the bridge, Athos watched with a smile as the two younger men jumped into the river, their laughter ringing around the valley. He could not remember the last time he had been as carefree as that, and he longed for it. For a brief moment he was tempted to join in, but instead, he turned to watch the road, waiting for Porthos to return.

At that moment, the man in question was leading his horse along a winding cart track, his saddle bags stuffed to the gunnels with bread, cheese, and the holy of holies, a couple of bottles of decent wine. Not that he really needed anything else to eat, or drink for that matter, not his fault of course, but it would have been churlish to refuse the inn keeper's hospitality, not to mention the fact that serving girl with the red hair had been very...distracting. His mind was very much elsewhere, which was his excuse for not seeing the sword until it was pointed at his belly.

He looked down at the small wooden sword, clutched in a smaller hand, and grinned. In front of him stood a girl of perhaps seven or eight years old, with long dark hair that straggled down to her waist ; her dress, which may at one time have been blue, hung off her tiny frame, and her bare feet were grubby. Blue eyes sparkling with mischief, she gave him a smile that could have lit up a room.

'I believe you have me at a disadvantage,' Porthos bowed his head formally. She giggled again.

'My name is Aimee.'

'Pleased to meet you Aimee, I'm Porthos. We may need to have a talk about the sword you're pointing at me.'

'You need to pay a toll.'

'A toll?'

'Everyone who comes along the road needs to pay a toll.'

'And how much, pray, is the toll?' For a moment she looked confused, and Porthos worried that he'd said something wrong. 'What would you have me do?'

'Can I ride the horse?'

'Have you ridden before?' She nodded.

'Maman rides in the ring, and sometimes she lets me sit on one of the horses. I'm allowed to ride the donkey, but he doesn't like me.'

'Tell you what, you let me know where you live, and I'll take you home, how about that?' She nodded enthusiastically, and allowed herself to be lifted into the saddle. 'Hold on tight.'

'We are setting up camp in the field by the wood.'

'Camp? You're travellers?'

'We are players.' She said proudly. 'The best in France.'

'Are you a member of the troupe?' She shook her head and laughed.

'Don't be silly. I'm a Musketeer!'


	2. Chapter 2

As twilight fell, they made their way into the travellers' camp. The way was lit with flickering torches, and the smell of exotic foods and spices wafted on the breeze. The rough stage stood at the far end of the field, surrounded by brightly coloured tents selling every available thing from coloured silks, to herbs, spices and livestock. In others, men gambled on rodent racing, and the turn of a card. It seemed that everyone from the nearby villages had come to investigate the fair, and the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly.

'So, where's your little friend?' D'Artagnan asked Porthos, as he handed him a tankard of ale, purchased from a stall selling various drinks, some of which appeared to have foliage floating in them.

'Tucked up in her bed I hope. Both her mother and father are treading the boards tonight. Aramis, drink?' Aramis shook his head, but gave his friend a relaxed grin.

'Not just now. I'm going to see what they are selling.' He wandered off into the crowd, and his brothers were somewhat surprised to see him enter the tent selling vivid coloured silks and ribbons.

'He has a new woman doesn't he?' muttered D'Artagnan under his breath.

'Course he does, and the idiot thinks we don't know. I haven't seen him so relaxed in a long time, we're even close to Savoy, and that hasn't fazed him.'

'I wish Athos were so relaxed.' Porthos slapped the younger man on the arm.

'Don't worry about Athos. He'll sort himself out, he always does.' He tried not to let his friend see the worry in his eyes. Their friend had not come with them to fair, stating that he preferred his own company, but Porthos knew from experience that this meant the company of his memories and a bottle of wine. It wasn't healthy, his obsession with the past, with Her, but he didn't know how to help his friend resolve things once and for all. He just knew that, if Athos fell, he would be there to help him rise, as always.

As he swam in the dark pool he felt the water cold against his bare skin, sending tiny shocks up and down his body. Moonlight shimmered on the pool's surface and above him, the stars glittered in the blackening sky. Despite his malaise of earlier, he felt strangely invigorated, the freezing water driving away the cobwebs in his brain, enabling him to think more clearly that he had done in quite a while.

He knew his behaviour had not been up to the standard of a Musketeer, or indeed the standard he expected from others, and he resolved to start making changes. His friends had enough to worry about, without having to fret over his wellbeing. With strong strokes, he swam to the bank, and clambered out onto the bank. The water ran in rivulets down his body, and he looked down at the old scars that marred his skin, so many of them, in so short a time. He felt that, ever since the fateful day that Thomas had died, his whole life had become a battle, leaving scars on his body and on his soul.

Shrugging on his leather trousers and loose cotton shirt, he allowed his damp hair to curl around his face and strode back to camp. The fire was dying, so he threw on another log, sending a shower of orange embers flickering into the night like a myriad of tiny fireflies. He sank down onto the ground, watching as the fire took hold, seeing pictures in the awakening flames. He didn't hear the others returning until Porthos said:

'Heavy rain shower was it?'

'Something like that.' He smiled. 'I take it your evening was enjoyable?' D'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

'The players told the story of Charlemagne, which seemed to go on as long as the war itself. Oh, and Porthos challenged the strong man, and almost won a pig.' The younger man grinned. 'We could have had sausages for a month.'

'You know I threw the match don't you?'

'I just saw you getting thrown onto your back.' Aramis chipped in. Porthos glared.

'At least I didn't waste my time buying pretty ribbons.'

'Ribbons?' Athos raised a sardonic eyebrow, and could see, even in the light of the campfire, a blush creep over his friend's face. 'I am sure that they will look fetching in your hair.'

'Funny, Athos, very funny. At least I don't look as though someone has tried to drown me.' They talked an laughed for a while longer, watching the moon slowly creep across the sky, until eventually they slept.

Athos did not know what had woken him. He was just aware that one minute he was sleeping, deep, restful and dreamless, and the next he was fully awake, staring at the stars. Around him, the others slept on, D'Artagnan curled up on his side, no doubt dreaming of his Contance; Aramis, somehow watchful even in sleep.

Then Porthos, laying on his back, snores reverberating around the countryside like some great sleeping leviathan. Athos knew that, loud though it was, this wasn't what had woken him, as he had grown used to it, night after night in the garrisons.

As he looked around, he realised that the night sky was not as dark as it had been. In the distance, an amber glow was flickering on the horizon, and the air carried the vague smell of burning. Shaking the others awake, they were about to go and investigate when the sound of hoof beats clattered across the bridge, and a beautiful grey horse loomed out of the night. On it's back clung a little girl, her tears leaving tracks in the soot that stained her face, her nightdress was charred around the hem, and her eyes were wide with fear.

'Aimee?' Porthos stepped forward, concern in his eyes

'Please, please, you must help us. They have taken maman and I think papa is dead.'


End file.
